¡España! - Cinco Senses in Galicia
I will admit: I did not want to drive another hour and a half to meet up with the Esposo's old high school friend at first.
When we finally reached our first hotel in Santiago de Compestela, after almost three straight days of travel, I wanted nothing more than to stay put. But Esposo had made plans for us to hang out with his friend Frank who has been living in Spain for about ten years now. Who better to show us around Galicia than a local? And his plans for us had sounded fun...when I read about them a week prior in Boston. Now? Now all I wanted to do was STOP MOVING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEEEEEEEASE.
So the Esposo buttered me up first.
Well. He cerveza'd me up. And we had our first sit-down, drawn-out meal in Spain.
This was the first time I began to relax and realize that Spain was all about the senses. At the moment, it was my sense of taste, obviously, but also my sense of touch as I savored holding the frosty goblet; the icy stream of beer as it went down my throat, cooling me from the inside out.
Rather reluctantly, I took my leave of Santiago de Compestela and back into the rented Stressmobile. Getting to his friend's town was no quick jaunt. But eventually we did arrive. And all of my irritation at the long drive melted away when I met Frank. He turned out to be the nicest, smartest, funniest, best host a travel-weary girl could ask for.
I informed the Esposo he was VERY lucky Frank was awesome.
Frank's tour through his neck of the woods was really a tour of the Cinco Senses, if you will. Esposo and I stopped worrying about cars and connecting flights and school credit cards and at long last got a taste (as well as smell, sight, sound and touch) of real Spanish living.
Taste.
(This is an easy one...)
Smell.
Wood smoke from the bonfires at the San Xuan festival.
Sight.
El mar.
Walls of Irish-influenced pottery. Galicia, Gallic, get it?
Sound.
The mariachi band who paraded past Frank's house the morning after we stayed out until 4:30am (a "respectable" Saturday night, according to F) and woke us up.
[NOTE: This is not the band in question. I was in no fit state to actually photograph them. Also, I wasn't sure they were real, or if I was hallucinating, still asleep, or had more to drink than I thought.]
Touch.
ANYthing cold was the most welcome feeling of all in the scorching heat of Spain. Especially when it came in the form of iced coffee, or café con leche con hielo.
Remember my first post aprés-Spain? That the trip was long and arduous with really awesome, well-deserved rewards thrown in? Galicia was the first of those rewards.
Gracias, Frank.
When we finally reached our first hotel in Santiago de Compestela, after almost three straight days of travel, I wanted nothing more than to stay put. But Esposo had made plans for us to hang out with his friend Frank who has been living in Spain for about ten years now. Who better to show us around Galicia than a local? And his plans for us had sounded fun...when I read about them a week prior in Boston. Now? Now all I wanted to do was STOP MOVING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEEEEEEEASE.
So the Esposo buttered me up first.
Well. He cerveza'd me up. And we had our first sit-down, drawn-out meal in Spain.
This was the first time I began to relax and realize that Spain was all about the senses. At the moment, it was my sense of taste, obviously, but also my sense of touch as I savored holding the frosty goblet; the icy stream of beer as it went down my throat, cooling me from the inside out.
Rather reluctantly, I took my leave of Santiago de Compestela and back into the rented Stressmobile. Getting to his friend's town was no quick jaunt. But eventually we did arrive. And all of my irritation at the long drive melted away when I met Frank. He turned out to be the nicest, smartest, funniest, best host a travel-weary girl could ask for.
I informed the Esposo he was VERY lucky Frank was awesome.
Frank's tour through his neck of the woods was really a tour of the Cinco Senses, if you will. Esposo and I stopped worrying about cars and connecting flights and school credit cards and at long last got a taste (as well as smell, sight, sound and touch) of real Spanish living.
Taste.
(This is an easy one...)
Smell.
Wood smoke from the bonfires at the San Xuan festival.
Sight.
El mar.
Walls of Irish-influenced pottery. Galicia, Gallic, get it?
Sound.
The mariachi band who paraded past Frank's house the morning after we stayed out until 4:30am (a "respectable" Saturday night, according to F) and woke us up.
[NOTE: This is not the band in question. I was in no fit state to actually photograph them. Also, I wasn't sure they were real, or if I was hallucinating, still asleep, or had more to drink than I thought.]
Touch.
ANYthing cold was the most welcome feeling of all in the scorching heat of Spain. Especially when it came in the form of iced coffee, or café con leche con hielo.
Remember my first post aprés-Spain? That the trip was long and arduous with really awesome, well-deserved rewards thrown in? Galicia was the first of those rewards.
Gracias, Frank.